


coffee and other incidents

by onanotherworld



Series: nudity and coffee [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Fluff, M/M, and combeferre is an engima, enjolras is confused, jehan is a mysterious flower who can beat you up, r really can't catch a break can he
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:28:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2611784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onanotherworld/pseuds/onanotherworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In doing so, he leans on the nozzle, which shrieks and spits steam in all directions, causing Grantaire to squeak and jump backwards, and fall, hitting the cup with his hand and so spilling the coffee on himself. </p><p>He sits on the floor for a second, coffee all over him, and the mug sitting on his stomach, right ways up. Grantaire thinks that’s a special little <em>fuck you</em> from the universe. Enjolras just stares at him. He can feel the fuses in his brain blowing from sheer humiliation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	coffee and other incidents

“Jehan!” Grantaire shoves open the door to the Musain with a loud clatter, his bag swinging at his hip, brandishing the note in one hand. He stomps up to the counter and thrusts it in Jehan’s face, flicking one of his dreadlocks out of the way.

“What?” Jehan stands behind the counter, a tea towel thrown over one shoulder, his apron folded in half and tied round his middle, and he looks so innocent. Like a baby seal. Or a puppy. Grantaire narrows his eyes. 

Too innocent.

“What’s that you’ve got in your hand, R?” Now there’s a definite smirk threatening at the corners of his mouth.

“Jehan,” Grantaire gazes at him, eyes betrayed. “Why did you throw a hot naked guy at me at the asscrack of dawn?” 

“I assure you I did no such thing.” Jehan rearranges his dreadlocks primly, staring at Grantaire in mock-offense. “Whatever hot naked male you found this morning was all your fault. I just happened to turn your head in the right direction,”

“Ah ha! You did have something to with- with this!” Grantaire gesticulates wildly, and the smirk finds its way to Jehan’s face at last.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jehan replies breezily, switching his attention to the coffee maker.

Grantaire’s mouth works for a second. “B-but,” he splutters, “what’s with the ‘don’t ask why the balcony doors are open, R, just ignore everything when your super-hot godlike neighbour prances _completely naked_ ” Grantaire’s voice rips through several octaves. “opposite your apartment. Right in your line of vision’. You’re telling me you had nothing to do with that.”

“Exactly.” Jehan fiddles with the nozzle of the coffee maker, amusement dancing in his eyes. 

Grantaire thumps the note down on the counter and jabs a finger at the hastily written _Jehan_ at the bottom, “But it says your name at the end of the note! You must’ve had something to do with this.” If he doesn’t Grantaire will eat his paints. That reminds him, he needs to draw Enjolras, needs to capture that golden hair, the way it had tousled this morning like Enjolras had just been having marathon sex – no Grantaire, bad, he’s getting off track.

Grantaire jams his focus back on Jehan just long enough to hear him say, “Huh. So it does. Must be a complete coincidence.” Jehan pats him on the head, then goes to the till.

“Jehan,” Grantaire whines, burying his head in his arms, “why?” 

“Why what, darling?” 

Grantaire groans. “Tell meee,”

“Tell you what?” 

He looks completely pathetic, collapsed over the counter, but Jehan’s got thick skin. “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me,” he sing-songs, dancing back over to Grantaire, “use your words.”

“I hate you,” drifts up from the pile of Grantaire. 

“No you don’t,” Jehan puts his head on the counter beside Grantaire and blows on his face. Squeaking in a very manly fashion, Grantaire stands up properly and bats him away. While Grantaire glares at him, Jehan grins, “So,” he begins in a cloying tone, “what did happen this morning?”

Grantaire’s face goes red with remembered embarrassment. “You know fine well what happened this morning,” he grumbles, and Jehan’s grin goes wider. 

“Still, tell me.” He hops and sits on the counter, glancing around to see if the customers care. He pats the curly hair on top of Grantaire’s head once more, “Tell momma Jehan all about it.”

Grantaire makes a strangled sound, and scrubs a hand through his hair. Jehan knows he’s won and his smile widens devilishly, showing teeth. Grantaire unsucessfully pretends that it doesn’t scare him. “I was sitting, drinking coffee, getting ready, wondering why the balcony doors were open,” he points an accusing finger at Jehan, “which I know you had something to do with, and then suddenly there were abs and pectorals and it was too early and he had blond curls and did I mention he was _completely naked?_ Because I didn’t think I’d stressed that enough.” 

“And you couldn’t stop staring at him.” Jehan surmises, casting a measuring eye over him. 

“I’m a weak, weak man, Jehan. Help me. He had abs and pecs and a face like Michelangelo’s _David_ and help because I don’t think I can stop-“

“Did he catch you staring?” Jehan asks, cutting off Grantaire’s babbling, a devilish gleam shining through the passiveness on his face.

“No,” mumbles Grantaire.

“Did you speak to him?”

“Well, yes, after. Clothes. After clothes. Clothes that went on his body. Then we spoke.” Grantaire hopes the earth opens up and swallows him, right then and there.

“So,” Jehan chirps cheerfully, “what’s the problem? Are you two okay? Cool with the whole flashing thing?”

“Yes, and now I’m meeting him tomorrow on our balconies. With clothes. Not sans clothes. That would be awkward. We tried that.” He giggles hysterically for a second. “Help me Jehan he’s so pretty and I saw him naked before we actually met I’m sure that’s not a good basis for a relationship-” 

Jehan whoops. “That’s great! What are you going to wear, of course I’ll help you, I knew it would work! Damn, I’m good,” Jehan preens.

Grantaire looks at him pathetically, and then waves the note in his face. “You did have something to do with _this,_ I knew it,” and if Grantaire wasn’t drowning in self-pity at the moment, he might’ve throttled Jehan. 

Tried to throttle him, anyway. Jehan would have drop-kicked him immediately, then checked to see if he’d scuffed his Doc Martins. 

“How did you even arrange this?” Grantaire asks, a bit incredulous. 

“I have my ways,” says Jehan.

Jehan scares Grantaire sometimes. This time is one of them. 

Just that moment, the door opens again, bell jingling, two men walking through the door, ensconced in conversation, and Jehan slides off the counter in preparation to serve them. Grantaire realises who walked through the door first in the split-second glance that he got of him. 

“Oh, shit!” Grantaire dives over the counter and stays still where he lies, while Jehan stares down at him in alarm. He’s in a very awkward position, one arm thrown over his head, and one leg tucked up under the other, and it’s already starting to cramp, but he’d rather have all the cramps in the world than show himself to the very man he and Jehan have just been discussing. 

“It’s him,” Grantaire mouths to Jehan. He smirks, and turns back to Enjolras and the other man, hastily trying to organize his face into a polite mask. 

“How may I help you today?” Asks Jehan, smiling charmingly. 

“Uh, yes. Can I have a large black coffee, please.” Enjolras sounds completely calm, like he hadn’t been wandering round his flat naked, and that someone had seen him doing said activity, less than three hours ago.

“And can I get a latte, please.” Says another voice, deeper than Enjolras’. 

Grantaire got up onto his hands and knees, trying frantically to dodge Jehan’s feet as he bustles around assembling the coffees. Jehan continues on blithely, efficiently blocking off Grantaire’s exits without looking down.

Grantaire exhales desperately, breathing, “I will kill everything you love,” Jehan’s smile changes to a grin for a moment. 

Jehan manipulates the nozzle of the coffee machine expertly, providing Grantaire with a perfect opportunity to scramble to the staff room. When he’s nearly there, Jehan’s leg appears from nowhere and sends him sprawling from behind the counter. Jehan doesn’t let the coffee drop, and with a straight face, hands them both to Enjolras and his companion, like people suddenly appear from behind the counter every day. 

“Ah, Grantaire. I was wondering where you’d got to,” Jehan says, gazing down at him. Grantaire wishes for whatever deity is available to strike him dead. 

_”Grantaire?”_ Enjolras asks disbelievingly, face gone that delightful pink that Grantaire ponders whether it goes all the way down – bad Grantaire, he really should be sprayed with a water bottle or something.

“Enjolras!” Grantaire leaps to his feet as if he hadn’t just faceplanted the floor, grinning almost manically, “Fancy seeing you here,” the man beside Enjolras has amusement mingled with confusion on his face, and Jehan brings a hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter.

Grantaire tries to ignore how red his face is. “So, ah, what brings you down to the Musain this fine day?” He leans on the nozzle, trying for nonchalant, and failing miserably. 

“Um, coffee.” Enjolras gestures to his cup on the counter, so obviously suffering from second-hand embarrassment at Grantaire’s actions that it’s painful.

“Of course, of course, now if you’ll excuse me I’ll be on my way to the break room to have my nervous breakdown in peace,” Grantaire nods, trying to gather some of the little dignity he has left, and starts to move towards the staff room. 

Just as he’s about to escape the situation and run to quietly die from mortification, his bag knocks Enjolras’ cup from the side, and Grantaire has precisely zero point five seconds of thinking _”Fuck”_ before his body reacts and reaches to grabs the cup of hot coffee. 

In doing so, he leans on the nozzle, which shrieks and spits steam in all directions, causing Grantaire to squeak and jump backwards, and fall, hitting the cup with his hand and so spilling the coffee on himself. 

He sits on the floor for a second, coffee all over him, and the mug sitting on his stomach, right ways up. Grantaire thinks that’s a special little _fuck you_ from the universe. Enjolras just stares at him. He can feel the fuses in his brain blowing from sheer humiliation.

Jehan can’t hold back his guffaws, and has to bend down over his knees, tears pricking from the corners of his eyes. Enjolras similarly seems to be struggling with holding back his laughter. The man next to him raises an eyebrow as he peers over the counter.

“You’re a traitor,” Grantaire mumbles to Jehan, whose mirth then redoubles, but he offers Grantaire a hand up. 

“Thanks,” Grantaire grunts. He doesn’t dare to look at Enjolras just yet. 

After a moment of awkward silence, with Jehan’s giggles for background noise, Grantaire sighs dejectedly, “I guess I owe you a coffee, Enjolras. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Grantaire. Really,” Enjolras’ eyes are sparkling with amusement. He pauses for a moment, before the man beside him nudges his shoulder gently. He then adds, “but you could buy me another one now, though.” 

Jehan muffles his squeals with his tea towel, hissing to Grantaire, “Say yes, say yes, say yes!” 

Shrugging helplessly, but with a smile at the corners of his mouth, he replies, “Yeah. Sure. Why not, at least we have clothes. Even if mine are a bit ruined.” Embarrassment makes Enjolras’ cheeks pink again.

Jehan fist bumps Enjolras’ companion. “Combeferre?” Enjolras asks in amazement. “How do you know each other?” The man, Combeferre, shrugs. 

“Jehan came up to me,” 

Grantaire’s and Enjolras’ eyes settle with incredulity on Jehan. He twirls a dreadlock around his finger. 

“I have my ways,” he replies, and blows a kiss, before skipping around the counter, hooking his arm through Combeferre’s and pulls him off to another part of the café. 

Enjolras and Grantaire trade a look, and Grantaire isn’t entirely sure what just happened. 

Or what happens next for that matter. 

He tries to act casual. And fails. “So, you, me, sit down, coffee thing, yes, let’s do the thing now,” Grantaire wishes to set fire to something. Perhaps himself. Their exchanges must stop being like this before he melts into a puddle of shame.

But Enjolras laughs, bright and golden, with eyes that are warm and blue. It’s great. “Shall we sit down?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Grantaire says, and the day’s beginning to look up.

Although, Grantaire still wants to hit his head on the coffee machine, or the offending nozzle. Repeatedly. 

But he supposes everyone has their little humiliations in life.

His just involves coffee and nudity. Sometimes both.

This, surprisingly, does not make him feel better.


End file.
